The Blurred Line Between
by twighlightangel61090
Summary: Harry struggles to find a reason to live through the abuse that he endures at 'home' and the fate that has been thrust upon him as Draco strives to show the world that he is not his father.
1. prologue

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine…only the plot.

Warning: In this story there will be violence, sexual situations and foul language in addition to slash relationships…if you don't like it don't read it.

Author's note: Hey, this is my first Harry Potter story, I hope you like it, I'm not exactly sure if I like the prologue, but remember this is just an opening to the story IT WILL GET BETTER!!! But let me know what you think of it as of the end of the prologue. PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!!!!

Prologue 

The blinding heat of late August was almost too much to bear for one emerald eyed wizard as he lay on his rusty, rundown bed. Sweat trickled down the boy's bare chest, seeping into deep lacerations that covered the darkly tanned torso. He had become accustom to pain over the years, and it no longer fazed him as it once did. It was no longer the feeling of pain that caused him to stay awake at night as tears that had long since become silent with desperation, slid down his thinning and hollow cheeks. It was the feeling of inferiority, the feeling of being used that had gotten to him.

His uncle had abused him for as long as he could remember. When he was younger it would be things like a slap for not finishing the dishes, or a punch to the ribs for burning the breakfast. Though as he got older and finally learned what he truly was, his uncle seemed to think that he could somehow beat the magic out of him, or maybe it was to beat him into submission, he was never really certain. The only thing he was ever sure of was that, he was never good enough. Nothing he ever did would be enough to please the so called 'family' that had so 'graciously' taken him in. The fire that had burned in him for the longest time, the one that kept him moving and made him get up and face the day had long since burned out. He began to believe the things his uncle said to him. "Worthless freak," was what he was called. For sixteen years he had been degraded and made to feel like the scum of the earth, and after a while, it was hard not to believe it himself.

That's right. Harry Potter, 'savior of the wizarding world,' 'the Boy-Who-Lived,' hated himself so much, that he no longer cared what his uncle did to him, he believed that he deserved all of it, if not for killing Cedric and Sirius, then for simply being alive. A part of himself had been locked away in a small corner of his mind, the part that knew that what was being done to him was wrong—the part that knew he wasn't to blame for Voldemort's insanity. So as his uncle kicked, punched, burned, cut and tore into him, he never felt a thing.

But now, as the salty sweat seeped into his open wounds, a burning sensation flooded over him. As much as he had become accustom to the pain, this brought tears to his eyes. He had lost everyone close to him, and no matter what anyone else said, he still felt the pain of guilt as it ate away at him. And as much as he wanted to give up sometimes, he thought of everyone that counted on him and he couldn't do it. They were the ones that made him feel the pain; they made him feel ashamed of what he let happen to him. He was supposed to be their 'savior' yet he couldn't even save himself from a muggle. How was he supposed to defeat the most evil dark lord in hundreds of years?

His body had grown stiff long ago. He hadn't been able to move in almost two weeks, and had only been fed a little less than a week ago. His whole body groaned in pain, but there was nothing he could do as he was unable to move any of his limbs to rectify the situation. His arms were now tied tightly to his bed (for fear that he would escape or cause abnormality), not that it was necessary, with a broken arm and three broken fingers there wasn't much he could do anyway. Even if he could untie his arms, he also had a cracked knee, a sprained ankle, two broken ribs, a concussion, a cracked jaw, and more bruises and cuts than he could count—and those were just the injuries he knew of, there was no telling what he would find if he were ever allowed to get up and check himself over.

Harry had thought that this summer would be different, that he wouldn't have to live like this anymore. No matter how much he felt he deserved it, he 'selfishly' begged for the pain to stop. He was so confused, the pain both terrified him and calmed him. Though to Harry there were two types of pain, there was the pain that he cried over, the pain that he wished to forever escape, the pain that his uncle inflicted upon him. Then there was the pain he inflicted himself. The wonderful release he had found, the one thing he could control, the one kind of pain he could control. He used it punish himself, and at the same time, make sure he was still of the living, for sometimes he wasn't quite sure if he was.

He'd use anything he could get a hold of, be it a razor blade, a shard of glass or even a steak knife as he did the dishes, anything he could use to mar the tainted flesh he had been given. There were many that envied him, but he couldn't understand why. Why would anyone wish to have his life? Who would wish for everyone they ever loved to be taken away from them, for the ones they have to live with to look at them as if they were the lowest being that ever lived, for the weight of the world to be dropped on their shoulders at the tender age of eleven? No, he didn't understand why anyone would be envious of him. Even now at seventeen he was no more able to find the good in his life than he could six years ago.

As Harry lay there, desperately ignoring the growing discomfort aching in his bones, he stared blindly up at the ceiling. He wondered what his friends were doing now. Ron and Hermione had grown distant over the last year when they started dating. Harry felt selfish for wanting his friends back, he knew that they were happy together and that they needed time alone, but he felt cast aside, just like he always expected he would be. A part of him scolded him now for believing that things would forever continue the same way between his friends. He knew it had to end sometime.

But maybe, he found himself thinking, it's for the best. After all, wouldn't Ron and Hermione be better off as far away from him as they could get? It was blatantly obvious that just being around him was hazardous and extremely likely to get you killed. So maybe, just maybe, it was a good thing that he had been left utterly alone yet again. But even as he thought this, he wished that they had at least written him this summer, perhaps offered to take him away from this place. Then again, it's not as if they knew what went on in that house. He would never tell anyone what was done to him, not only was it humiliating, but it was his own personal weakness. He may be a great wizard, but he was still just a teenager, just as lost and confused as any.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine…only the plot.

Warning: In this story there will be violence, sexual situations and foul language in addition to slash relationships…if you don't like it don't read it.

Author's note: Sorry it took me so long to update, my life has been so crazy lately. Anyway here is the latest chapter, please read and review!!!!!! By the way, if anyone would like to beta my story please leave a message in the review saying so and I will get back to you.

Chapter One

School would begin again in two days time. Harry found himself feeling indifferent to this news. He could vaguely remember a time when he would long for the summer holidays to end so he could be reunited with his friends and once again learn to forget. Now as he lay in the same bed he had been occupying for weeks, he found himself questioning whether or not he should return to Hogwarts at all. But, as Harry thought it over, his conscious nagged and reminded him of his responsibility as 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. Then the question became, how would he even get to Hogwarts? He wasn't entirely sure his uncle would let him go.

Speaking of the devil, as Harry lay pondering his predicament the floor began to shake as heavy footsteps fell on the hardwood floors of the upstairs hallway. Without thought, Harry attempted to move his battered body into a secure ball to provide protection from the inevitable assault it was about to undertake.

All most all of the light from the hallway was blocked out as the bedroom door opened, by the ominous silhouette of Uncle Vernon. Harry recognized a bottle of whiskey hanging limply in the man's hand as he slammed the door shut and staggered over to the teen. Vernon's drinking habits were what got him into trouble with Petunia earlier that summer.

He had been laid off of work and instead of brushing it off and attempting to find a new job, he turned to alcohol. What used to be only a few drinks a week, only enough to get him on edge enough to yell and beat Harry, turned into a few dozen drinks a night that would send him into a drunken rage at anyone in his way. Harry seemed to be in his way more than not. Petunia had had enough of it when Vernon finally had the audacity to strike Dudley. After a few minutes of yelling, she packed a suitcase for her and one for Dudley and they left (sending a truck and movers for the rest of their stuff of course), that is when Harry knew that he was in real trouble.

Harry had been hit before, been thrown into things, had his bones broken and gotten many concussions, but it had never been as violent, as angry as it was that summer. He had only been home for a little over two weeks when Vernon lost his job and Petunia left. Up until that point he had been put to work everyday from sun up to well past sun down, working both in the house and outside in the hot sun. His small and lean body became toned from work, but any sort of muscle mass refused to develop due to lack of sustenance. All of that changed in one night, that night, Harry knew that if he remained at Privet Drive, he was in more danger than he would have thought possible.

FLASHBACK

Harry had been in the middle of doing the dishes when the screaming started. He paused in his chore to listen.

"DUDLEY?!?" He heard his aunt scream. After thoroughly checking her whale of a son over she rounded on her husband "How dare you strike my son?!"

"Shut up you bloody woman. It's my house and I shall do as I please in it." The overweight man replied.

"I will not subject Dudley to your presence any longer."

"Fine then, get the hell out!"

And like that, they were gone, leaving Harry with a very pissed off uncle. Vernon staggered into the kitchen where Harry attempted to act like he hadn't heard a word, but, while his uncle may be overweight and incredibly bigoted, he wasn't stupid. The large man rounded on the teen and pointed a finger at him, "This is all _your_ fault."

As Vernon advanced, Harry shied away, finding himself trapped between the counter and his uncle. "She left because of _you!_" One beefy hand cracked against the side of Harry's head, his uncle's ring causing a gash to appear by his left temple.

"I lost my job because of _you_!" Vernon grabbed Harry by his shirt and flung him across the room and into the sliding glass doors causing them to shatter. Shards of glass embedded themselves in Harry's flesh; others tore brutally into his skin as they grazed his body. Upon impact Harry had twisted his ankle and smashed his wrist. Attempting to back away, while still cradling his damaged limbs, he found he wasn't nearly fast enough to avoid the wrath of his uncle.

Vernon descended upon his nephew and continued to beat him for all of the 'problems he had caused' in the seventeen years he had been alive. And in that moment, Harry believed him, believed he deserved this, after all, it was his fault that so many people were dead, how could he be sure that everything else wasn't his fault as well.

By the end of the night, Harry lay broken both in body and spirit on his bed upstairs, arms tied to the bed posts to ensure he wouldn't try to contact his 'freak' friends and escape. No, Harry Potter was completely alone.

END FLASHBACK

Now, almost two and half months later, Harry found himself in a similar situation, just as he had many nights that summer. The look of pure rage on Vernon's fact became encased in shadow as he towered over his nephew. Harry flinched at the sight before him, this amused Vernon and he began to laugh cruelly and mockingly.

"You thought you could pull one over on me did you?" The large man spat. This left Harry confused, he had no idea what he meant by this. He told Vernon so and received a strong blow to the ribs in return. "Don't lie to me boy. You contacted those 'freaks' didn't you?" To emphasize his point he pulled out a letter from behind his back, Harry could tell even from where he lay that it was definitely from the wizarding world, but then the question became who was it from?

"I swear, I haven't sent any letters." The teen pleaded, fully aware of what the consequences would be if he had. Harry's owl Hedwig had locked away at the beginning of the summer in the cupboard under the stairs along with his trunk, he hadn't been able to see her at all except to give her food once a week when he was allowed. Harry was pulled out of his thoughts when a fist came flying out and struck him forcefully in the face. He could feel the soft cartilage of his nose break beneath the blow.

"I told you not to lie to me boy." Another series of punches, kicks, and other such violent acts rained down on the sixteen-year-old boy. "You will learn that I am not a fool, if I have to beat it into you." And he proceeded to do so. For close to an hour Harry endured endless pain inflicted by his uncle. He was whipped with a belt, struck with the bottle of whiskey Vernon had had in his hand and just when he thought it couldn't get any worse…it did.

A mad glint seemed to find its way into the beady eyes of Dursley senior. Harry was forcefully turned so his aching and bruised stomach was face down on the thin and battered mattress, his still bound arms cracked and twisted painfully in the process. Vernon pulled out pocket lighter and a key he happened to have in his pocket. Sudden inspiration had apparently struck him and Harry was sure he wouldn't like it. Slowly, Vernon used the lighter to heat the end of the key until it was glowing red in the dark room. Then, he pressed it into the soft flesh of Harry's back, drawing it across the skin forming the word 'freak', all the while ignoring the screams of pain coming from his nephew.

"Now everyone will know what you truly are, a dirty little freak." This was whispered into Harry's ear, his uncle's rancid breath grazing his face and sending involuntary shivers up his spine. Of course Vernon decided to tease the boy about this, "ah, so you're a faggot too are you boy? You enjoy this?" he asked as he reached down and grabbed his nephew's length.

Harry let a small whimper escape him, "please no." But his desperation went unnoticed as he felt his tattered boxers being roughly removed from him. Closing his eyes tightly, he wished it all would end. He wished at that moment to be anywhere else, anywhere but there. The next thing he felt was a sharp pain as his uncle forced himself on his nephew.

The scream Harry let out was full of anguish and despair; he wouldn't have even recognized his voice as his own. His throat quickly became hoarse as his vocal chords were strained. The sick irony was that this only seemed to spur Vernon on.

After what felt like eternity to the now completely broken boy on the bed, his uncle pulled out of him and had the sympathy to knock him unconscious.

When Harry awoke he strained his eyes against the bright sunlight streaming in his window. _How long was I out for? _He wondered to himself. He got his answer not a minute later when his door was flung open and Vernon threw some clean clothes from his trunk at him. "Get cleaned up and dressed boy, you have ten minutes before I expect you in the car."

Harry looked confused for a moment but then it dawned on him, school. He must have slept an entire day. Before Vernon left he turned threateningly toward his nephew, "Boy, don't you ever tell anyone about what goes on in this house, it's not like they'd care about a whore like you anyway." With that he turned and left Harry to drag himself slowly out of bed, wincing and close to tears from the pain as he worked his way toward the bathroom.

Locking the door behind him he finally brought himself to look in the mirror. He hardly looked like himself at all, his hair was shaggy and unkempt as always yes, but now it was matted with blood. He was thinner than he should have been, yes he had always been small for his age, but now he looked so fragile and that scared him. Cuts and bruises littered his skin, blood smeared over his features. Carefully, after wetting a towel he began to clean his injuries, trying his best to ignore the pain involved in doing so.

Finally pulling on the clean clothes he limped out of the bathroom and to the car where Vernon was waiting for him. He was sure he had at least sprained his ankle; he knew he had a broken wrist, a few cracked ribs and a whole other laundry list of injuries. The amount of energy it took for him to reach the vehicle was astounding. When he finally collapsed into the backseat of the car, he felt near to passing out. He focused on his breathing and staying conscious the whole way to the train station, this proved highly difficult.

Once on the train he could heal up his injuries as best he could. He knew that they would be at the station well before anyone else, Vernon always dropped him off early as to get rid of him that much sooner, so Harry knew that he would be able to find a compartment to himself on the train.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as they screeched to a halt outside the entrance to the station. Reaching out with his good hand, Harry opened the car door only to be yanked back by a hand on the back of his neck. "Remember boy, not a word."

Those were the parting words he was left with as he made the excruciatingly painful journey to platform 9 ¾. Each step seemed to rip him in half. When his gaze finally fell upon the barrier, he was sweating and panting from exertion, spots swam in front of his vision and he swayed dangerously on his feet. Pushing himself harder he made it through the barrier and onto the train. There was no one there yet, there wouldn't be for close to forty minutes. Choosing a compartment toward the back of the train, Harry wasted no time in pulling out his wand to cast several complex locking charms on the door.

Allowing himself a few minutes to relax he thought about what he was going to do. He knew he needed to heal himself as best he could, which wasn't that great. He could partially heal his bones, at least enough so that they wouldn't give out on him. He could also staunch the bleeding on the few cuts that were still bleeding, but he couldn't heal any of the bruises or cuts completely, so that left him with two options. He could get someone else to help him, but that would mean explaining how he got this way in the first place. Harry quickly ruled this out. He didn't want to bother anyone with this, not only would it mean accepting that he couldn't defend against a muggle, but it would also mean coming to terms with the fact that he had been raped, and he felt he deserved it. Then there were the self-inflicted cuts that he would have to explain, no he couldn't tell anyone. They would only worry needlessly.

Then it hit him, he did know a few concealment charms that could cover the injuries. The only problem with this is that he would have to remember to concentrate on it at least vaguely at all times, and he would have to recast it every five hours or so, but that seemed to be his only option. After deciding this, he performed the healing spells he knew and laid back to rest before he would be forced to once again thrust himself into the wizarding world. The only difference being that this time, he had nothing to look forward to, there was nothing left for him.

A/N: Ok so that's the end of that chapter, I know, it really sucks, but I really needed to get out of my writers block so I ended up pushing through it. Anyway, please review!


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine…only the plot.

Warning: In this story there will be violence, sexual situations and foul language in addition to slash relationships…if you don't like it don't read it.

Author's note: Here is the next chapter YAY! Hope you like it. By the way, I'm still looking for a beta if anyone is interested. By the way, I know that in the cannon Blaise is black, but in my story, since I've had a specific way of picturing him since before she actually described him, he will look different, I'm sorry if that bothers anyone.

Chapter Two

Draco Malfoy boarded the Hogwarts express fashionably late as was expected, quickly finding the compartment that contained his closest friends. Blaise Zabini, a tall, lightly muscled boy with deep olive skin, dark brown hair and green eyes, sat in the corner of the compartment completely absorbed in whatever book it was he had decided to read that week. Pansy Parkinson sat gracefully across from Blaise and seemed to be staring out the window in thought. Pansy had been labeled the school slut since second year when a rumor that she was sleeping with Ernie Macmillan from Hufflepuff began circulating. What the school didn't know was that there was no truth what-so-ever to those rumors, or the rumors about her and Draco being a couple.

The two friends had been close since they were two, and their parents had wanted them to marry, but after Lucius was sent to Azkaban and Draco took over the role as head of the house, he quickly absolved the marriage, conveniently forgetting to tell his mother that it was because he was gay. He had no doubt that his mother would still accept him if she knew, but he still wanted to wait until he was sure it was the right time. Most people saw the Malfoy family as cold and cruel, and that held true as far as Lucius was concerned, but Narcissa had always been warm and caring toward her son. Lucius was a violent man and easily angered, but his wife had prevented him from ever physically harming his son. Draco knew that and was eternally grateful toward his mother.

As Draco closed the compartment door behind him, his friends looked up and smiled at his presence, each letting their carefully constructed masks fall. Letting himself relax, Draco slid into the seat beside Pansy who leaned over to give him a hug. "How was your summer Pans?" Draco asked using his nickname for the girl.

"As well as could be expected under the circumstances." She replied. Draco knew what she meant. He had been informed while at the manor that Pansy's father had escaped from Azkaban, which meant that the free reign she had experienced while he was put away was going to come to a rather abrupt end.

Placing a hand over hers he looked her in the eyes, "Let me know if there is anything I can do."

"I will. Thanks Draco." Pansy then, obviously wanting to relieve the tension, turned to Blaise, "How about you Blaise? How was your summer?"

"Not too bad actually. I got my homework done in the first week," both Draco and Pansy rolled their eyes at this; the boy was like the male version of Granger, only not half as annoying. "and I spent the rest of the summer touring Europe with my family." The zabini's, although not a 'light' family by any stretch of the imagination, were not pledged to the dark lord like the Parkinson's and the Malfoy's, so all in all Blaise got along with his parents rather well as nothing except good grades was expected of him.

They spent the next hour or so talking about various aspects of their summers, their homework and good gossip that had been heard over the break. Hearing a commotion in the corridor they immediately ceased their conversation in favor of listening to what was going on beyond their compartment.

"Neville," they heard Granger's voice call, "have you seen Harry? We can't find him anywhere."

"No I'm sorry Hermione." The forgetful boy replied.

Even from where they sat they could hear Hermione's defeated sigh, "we never saw him get on the train and we've looked everywhere, we're starting to get really nervous."

Just then Weasly's voice joined the other two sounding slightly out of breath, "I just checked with Luna, Ernie, Dean, Seamus, Ginny, Hannah, Lavender, and a whole bunch of other people, no one's seen him Hermione."

"Ron, I just don't understand. What could have happened to him?" Granger was obviously upset as her voice was strained and sounded as if she were crying.

"Don't worry Herm, I'm sure he's alright." Weasly comforted his girlfriend before the pair headed off back to their compartment at the front of the train.

Once they were sure the two were gone, the three friends shared a curious glance. The golden boy was missing? For a moment Draco found himself afraid for the Gryffindor's safety, but quickly he reminded himself what a spoiled pratt the boy was and figured he probably just wanted to make an entrance to get attention. Satisfied with his theory he shared it with the others in his compartment who seemed to agree with him. Little did he know that even as the train crept closer to Hogwarts, the boy in question was fighting in his locked compartment to stay conscious.

As the train rolled into Hogsmade station, Harry carefully pulled himself up and readied himself for a long and hard night. It had taken him nearly an hour to change into his robes and another hour to remember and put up the glamour charms. Pulling out a small mirror he had thrown in his trunk he had studied his appearance, noticing that with the glamour charms he looked as healthy as a normal seventeen-year-old boy should, even though he was still a little short for his age reaching a height of five foot seven inches.

Sighing heavily, the boy removed his locking charms and exited the compartment. Slowly and cautiously, working very hard to act as normal as possible, Harry stepped down onto the platform where the other students were massed around the carriages. Staying to the back, Harry hoped to catch a carriage to himself and stay out of the way. Something finally going right for a change, he was able to snag the last carriage to himself, and he used his time alone on the way up to the castle to collect his jumbled thoughts.

A certain blond haired Slytherin watched the great hall fill up. Hundreds of chatting students took their seats next to their friends and awaited the beginning of the feast. Unconsciously, Draco kept glancing toward the Gryffindor table then back to the door, waiting for the emerald eyed savior to make his appearance. After quite a while, he was uncertain if the boy would ever appear, but just as he was about to turn around and start a conversation with Blaise he noticed the boy he was looking for creep discreetly into the hall.

The way the Gryffindor made his entrance blew Draco's whole attention theory right out of the water, the dark haired boy made sure everyone was busy talking to one another before hurriedly making his way to the end of his table, sitting in the seat closest to the door.

Draco couldn't figure out what, but there was something different about the golden boy this year. The boy appeared fine, but Draco, having grown up with who he did, could see that the smile plastered on the boys face didn't quite reach his eyes. Oh yes, something was wrong with the Gryffindor Golden Boy, and Draco wanted to know what. And Malfoy's always got what they want.

A/N: ok so that was like crappy beyond all reason, I'm sorry about that, I really really am. Please review!


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